


the stars go waltzing

by tootsonnewts



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universes, LET'S FIND OUT, M/M, Sheith Big Bang 2018, general spooky time feelings, keith is a ship passing in the (mostly) night, liminal space encounters, s7 canon divergent, shiro is confused and losing it, time slippage, what happened while shiro was fitting into the clone's body?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-07-01 13:51:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15775398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tootsonnewts/pseuds/tootsonnewts
Summary: How did I get here?He sincerely cannot recall. Looking around the smeared plexiglass of the bus stop walls, he can’t make out anything unusual. It’s late evening, maybe eight or so, judging by the heavy pinks smudging out into dark blue streaks across the sky. The stars are just beginning to peek out, bright pinpoints of light faded and blurred by the rapidly escaping sun. Soon they’ll burst fully forth, sparkling and shimmering in all their splendor. He remembers hearing once in high school that all the light you see when you look at the stars is a death knell; by the time their shine reaches our atmosphere, they’ve long since gone from this realm. This is - of course - untrue, but it always stuck with him. Just another of those impossible things that don’t seem so impossible when you first encounter them.It’s comforting to know things like that exist, things that seem one way but really aren’t. It’s a concept he can identify with. It’s something he lives daily.something is wrong with shiro.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> here we have it! this is my entry for the 2018 sheith big bang.
> 
> i really enjoyed writing this, and i was so, so fortunate to have art provided by both the ridiculous sweet and talented [jen (nornier)](http://nornier.tumblr.com/) and [sam (sammywhatammy)](http://sammywhatammy.tumblr.com/). seriously, i don't know how i got so lucky. please pay them a visit and show them the mad love they deserve!
> 
> this fic is heavily inspired by liminal spaces and _mad girl's love song_ by sylvia plath.
> 
> without further ado, here we go!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> art for this chapter provided by [sam](http://sammywhatammy.tumblr.com/)!

_How did I get here?_

He sincerely cannot recall. Looking around the smeared plexiglass of the bus stop walls, he can’t make out anything unusual. It’s late evening, maybe eight or so, judging by the heavy pinks smudging out into dark blue streaks across the sky. The stars are just beginning to peek out, bright pinpoints of light faded and blurred by the rapidly escaping sun. Soon they’ll burst fully forth, sparkling and shimmering in all their splendor. He remembers hearing once in high school that all the light you see when you look at the stars is a death knell; by the time their shine reaches our atmosphere, they’ve long since gone from this realm. This is - of course - untrue, but it always stuck with him. Just another of those impossible things that don’t seem so impossible when you first encounter them.

It’s comforting to know things like that exist, things that seem one way but really aren’t. It’s a concept he can identify with. It’s something he lives daily.

He checks his watch.

Seven forty-five.

He sits and waits, the sky darkening to a full black, stars twinkling into full brightness. The effect is lost, somewhat, due to the smog and light pollution of the city. A street lamp next to the bus booth flickers and pops, emphasizing the point. He sighs, shuffling his briefcase between his feet.

Looking down, he can’t remember when he grabbed it. He can’t remember what he was doing prior to entering the bus shelter. He checks his watch - a plain, clunky thing strapped tightly around a smooth metal wrist. It still jars him sometimes, looking down and not seeing flesh. His brows furrow every time, his mind working to remind him of what he lost and when, and why, and _how_. A lot of things filter through these days. It can’t be helped, the doctors said. At least, he’s pretty sure they said. Things are...strange where he is right now. Elastic. Unsure.

There’s nobody else in the bus shelter, just him and his briefcase and his arm. In the distance, horns honk, cats scream, music blares. It’s dull, though, thudding through the thick walls around him. He leans back heavily against the wooden bench. To his left, the back sports a headshot, some personal injury lawyer in an overpriced warehouse suit promising **_the top dollar YOU deserve!_ ** It’s a crock of shit. It’d be more truthful to say **_the top dollar I’M gonna take from you!_ ** But he supposes that’s irrelevant now.

He checks his watch again; he can’t remember what it said the last time he looked.

Nine thirty.

Things have slipped through the cracks on occasion, but sands through his hourglass? This is new. This is uncomfortable. It feels foreboding in a way he can’t quite fathom. Something here is a threat, but he can’t identify what it is. He clenches his fists in his lap. The air around him feels suddenly heavier, like swimming through syrup before a thunderstorm tears the world ass from elbow. Remembering a technique from his therapist, he shuts his eyes, takes deep breaths, and counts to himself.

The dull thud of shoes smacking haphazardly against the pavement enters his consciousness, but he ignores it. He can handle himself should anyone approach with less than friendly intentions. He continues to breathe, continues to count. He imagines his breaths like the waves of an ocean, lapping at the shores of his mind. Each new wave sweeps in to gather his discomfort and back out to smooth his sands.

_In, two-three-four. Out, two-three-four._

“I’ve been looking for you for two hours now. I don’t know why you’re always so hard to find.”

_[art provided by[sam](http://sammywhatammy.tumblr.com/post/177316373540/my-piece-for-the-sheithbigbang-this-is-an)]_

The voice is unfamiliar to him, sharp but warm with a little rasp on the back end. Still, it sits heavy in his skull like a reminder, poking at his reserves of smudged memories. It stirs something in him, a feeling he can’t quite suss out. The stranger sits on the open space of the bench and throws his arm along the back. A slender forearm just barely brushes along his spine and he tenses, unused to such casual contact. Just as quickly as it fell into place, the arm disappears.

“You thought you might be nervous.”

He turns his head to finally look at the stranger. He’s nonchalant in posture, slumped back against the money-grubbing lawyer’s face, thoughtlessly inspecting his fingernails.

“Still, I had hoped you’d be wrong for once in your life. Or maybe mine. Both? I dunno.”

He squints at the stranger’s face, trying to place where he might know the other man from. He’s thin and compact, but muscular in the way that a kid used to the streets of the city would be. His hair is a vantablack mess of texture and natural shine. His face is sharp and angular, dusted in the barest of freckles. The stranger looks him head-on, and his eyes strike deep into the core of him. They’re violet, bright and brilliant as the heavens, even in the shitty yellow light of the street lamp above.

His heart twinges in his chest.

He knows those eyes.

_Why do I know you?_

_Who are you?_

_Who am-_

“You’ve gotta stop making that face, Shiro.”

_Shiro. Shiro. Shiro._

Yes, that’s his name. How could he forget his own name? What on earth is going on with him? He thinks back to what he ate for dinner. It’s gone from him now, just another detail swept out to sea by the waves of his mind. He’s not feeling particularly sick, but he’s certainly feeling off-center. A creeping dread crawls along his skin, wrapping cold tentacles around his spine.

“You gotta stop making that one, too. God, I know you said you’d be a mess, but this is honestly too much.”

The stranger stands from the bench, popping his back loudly. The sound bounces around the bus booth, echoing in his ears until he squirms with it. It intensifies, doubling back in on itself until it’s all he can hear - a screaming cacophony of bones cracking and shifting, looping in surround sound. It becomes a monster in his head, something caustic and charging, covered in spines and fangs. It barrels through the recesses of his mind until it takes shape. Purple light floods his consciousness, bright and stark against a background of black.

It’s almost clinical, but he can’t quite place why. He doesn’t know where it came from, but he knows it’s been there for some time. It feels weathered. It feels like an old friend. No, that’s not right. An acquaintance? No. No acquaintance has teeth so sharp or power so visceral. He leans forward on the bench, gripping the edge of the seat with white knuckled intensity. He clenches his eyes closed, breathing deeply.

_In, two-three-four. Out, two-three-four._

_You’re fine._

_In, two-three-four. Out, two-three-four._

_There’s nothing there._

_In, two-three-four. Out, two-three-four._

_You’re just not feeling well._

_In. Out._

_Your name is Shiro._

_In. Out._

_You teach physics._

_In. Out._

_The bus is late._

_In. Out._

_You’ll be home soon._

“-ro. Shiro, come on. Come back to me.”

He opens his eyes. The stranger is kneeled on the ground before him, peering up at him calmly. He’s focused, but unshaken. His face is schooled carefully in a way that says he was expecting this reaction. He was _expecting_ this. Which is impossible. They’ve never met before. He’s fairly certain they haven’t, anyway. Not much is making sense currently.

His pulse slowly evens out, along with his breath. The darkness that tried to close in around him is receded now, but still threatening. He can feel it at his back, ready to press in again given the proper opportunity. The stranger shifts around on his knees and sighs.

A light touch settles on his leg, and to his own surprise he doesn't jerk away. A familiar warmth spreads through him at the contact - reassuring, settling, grounding.

He knows this person. He _knows_ him.

He doesn’t know how and he doesn’t know from where, but he knows him nonetheless.

It grates on him that he can’t remember.

“Alright,” the stranger says, groaning as he stands. “I’m a little bit early, I think. That’s my fault. Maybe I messed up the projection somewhere. Or the trigger? Your notes have always been kinda tough to read, if we’re being honest.”

“...Who are you?” he finally manages to croak. His voice sounds thin and sad to his own ears, a stranger speaking through his vocal cords. The man looks grief-stricken at his words, but it’s only a brief flash of emotion. His face smooths back out into a practiced expression of neutrality in an instant.

“On second thought, maybe Lance fucked up the math.”

“Who is Lance?”

The man looks down at him seriously, mouth twisting as he contemplates his answer. Finally, he comes to a conclusion, bending forward to set a warm hand on his shoulder. He turns his head to look at the stranger’s fingers there, long and bony, but calloused and strong. These are the hands of someone who has never known rest, this much he can tell.

“Shiro. My name is Keith. I don’t...I don’t think you’re ready yet. And that’s okay. I’ve waited a long time. I can wait a little more. You just need to know that we miss you. _I_ miss you. You’re something special, Shiro. You’ll see.”

His head hurts suddenly. The pain crashes into him like lightning. It’s a sharp sting in the center of his brain, exploding outward with nondescript shrapnel. His eyeballs throb with it. He hisses in pain, clutching at his head. Two gentle hands find their way to his shoulders, cutting through the hurt like a knife through flesh.

“This was too soon. I’m sorry. I know it hurts, but I hope you’ll forgive me.”

He thinks the stranger says something more, but the words blur out in his head. He bends forward, closing his eyes again and gasping for air. He loosens his tie, fingers scrabbling clumsily to undo the top button of his dress shirt. With the collar undone, he finally sits up, gulping in lungfuls of oxygen.

When he re-opens his eyes, the stranger is gone.

_What was his name?_

_Where did we meet?_

_How did he know me?_

_Who-_

Bright lights break his concentration as the bus pulls up to the curb. He has a slight headache; from what, he isn’t sure. His foot knocks into his briefcase as he stands. He can’t remember when he grabbed it. He can’t remember when he got to the bus stop. He searches back through his mind to jog his memory of his day, but comes up blank. He must be more tired than he realizes.

He checks his watch.

It’s eight p.m.

Shiro boards the bus home.


	2. Chapter 2

The bright light of the sun streams in between cheap blinds, bathing Shiro’s face in warmth. He cracks an eye open, taking in the dust motes sluggishly floating around in the beams. Yawning, he sits up and looks around his room. His head is pounding - a dull pain, but persistent. He doesn’t remember drinking last night, but who knows with him these days. He does remember a nightmare of some sort. He thinks. There are no solid memories of it to cling to, just faint impressions and feelings left behind.

A feeling of foreboding, something frightening enough to make his skin crawl, to claw sharp at his brainstem.

Someone…

_ Someone… _

His cellphone shrills with his alarm, and he shakes himself out of it. It’s been a while since he’d had a nightmare like that. Perhaps he should visit Dr. Altea again. It’s been a good while since he’s seen her, and he figures he’s overdue for a check-in, anyway.

Shiro scrubs his hands across his face and silences his phone. He needs to get ready for today’s lecture, but first, several ibuprofen and coffee. With that goal in mind, he slips from the bed and plods to his bathroom. Clothes and shoes are strung about the floor. It’s unusual because Shiro never gets undressed in the bathroom, preferring to strip in his bedroom where he can put everything directly into the closet or hamper without having to double back. But again, he’s been feeling off lately, so he wouldn’t put it past himself.

Rooting through the medicine cabinet, Shiro locates his painkillers and tips a handful out of the bottle, swallowing them with a swig of water straight from the sink faucet. Waste not, want not.

Somehow, he works through his morning routine: pushups in the hallway, crunches in the living room, coffee and toast at the kitchen counter, packing his briefcase in his office. He showers and dresses in his usual way, slacks and a button-up with a simple tie, and heads out the door to catch the bus.

Approaching the bus stop, his pace slows. There’s a heaviness in his gut the closer he walks. He can’t latch onto it completely, but something just feels wrong. He feels antsy and skittish the further forward he moves. He stops a few yards away. He’s being ridiculous, he knows, but he just can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong with the bus stop. Maybe, just for today, he’ll wait on the sidewalk. 

The bus ride itself is nothing out of the ordinary, the usual nameless faces that he always sees taking their place for the morning commute. Everyone has their own destination in mind, so they pay him no heed. Still, he scans them all much like every morning. Stepping down the aisle, he passes the quartet of sisters that always sit at the front of the bus. They’re always animated, despite the time, and seem to speak to each other in a language all their own. One of them is completely silent - he’s never heard her voice, anyway - but he knows she must communicate in her own way, because the others tend to speak to her from time to time as if answering a thought or question she poses. He understands, his communication with his own brother is very much the same way at times.

Speaking of, he should really call Kuro this evening. They haven’t seen each other in a while. It’s partially his fault, but most of the blame rests with adulthood and busy lives. He misses his brother’s fiery presence often. It’s such a contrast to his mild nature, but they fit perfectly. Two sides of a coin that manages to balance no matter the circumstances.

Shiro continues to his seat, passing the old woman who wears the same cloak every day. She’s gnarled and hunched, scraggly gray hair spilling over thin-boned shoulders, muttering to herself quietly as she clutches her carpet bag close to her chest. He doesn’t know as much about her. His powers of observation fail him when it comes to her, like she’s a blind spot set right in front of him every day. He wonders about her history sometimes. What led her to this point? Where does she go every day? She’s a mystery wrapped in an enigma.

Closer to his seat sits the one person on the bus that always makes him nervous. Like everyone else, he doesn’t know the man’s name, but he does know that he’s afraid of him for some reason. Huge and imposing, with a square cut jaw and nearly unnaturally defined muscles, he’s a powerhouse of a person and intimidating to boot. The prosthetic arm that almost seems two sizes too big doesn’t help things, either. That alone looks deadly, were it to be used against someone. He emanates an aura of danger without even so much as looking up from his phone. Shiro always shies around him with his head down as he passes to his own seat.

The bus pulls away from his stop and he puts the other passengers out of his mind, pulling his notes out of his briefcase and thumbing through them as he waits to reach his stop. By the time Shiro arrives on campus, the nightmare and strange feeling chasing it have all but fled his mind. He focuses on the several class periods he has lined up for the day and makes his way to his office to gather his things.

His mailbox is stuffed full of late papers. Midterms are coming up fast and he suddenly regrets being so lenient with his students. He foresees many long nights in his future and sighs as he collects the work. Settling in at his desk, he flicks on the little coffee pot he keeps in the corner and slides his glasses on as he wakes up his computer to check his email. Nothing unusual or pressing, just the normal notices about faculty meetings, parking reminders, and other things he would rather not bother himself with.

“Ah! There you are, number one! I’ve been looking for you!”

Shiro spins in his chair at the amused voice of Dr. Smythe. The man is leaning against his door frame, arms crossed, staring jovially down his nose at Shiro. He’d loom much larger, he thinks, if his hair wasn’t shockingly orange, and his mustache wasn’t quite so immaculately styled. As it is, he always reminds Shiro of that one uncle you always see at family reunions that slips you a twenty and tells you to be good for your mother right before he sneaks away and knocks back shots with your cousins.

“Coran,” Shiro chuckles. “Good morning.”

Coran smiles, entering the room to plop down on Shiro’s couch.  “And how do I find my favorite young mind this morning?”

“Wondering when I’ll be able to get you to tell me why you insist on calling me number one.”

Coran’s smile wobbles the slightest bit before he taps his nose and winks across the room. “Someday, perhaps,” he waxes mysteriously. “But forget that! I am sent here on a mission!”

Shiro cocks an eyebrow.

“And what mission might that be?”

“I have been informed, in no uncertain terms, that you are required to attend this evening’s faculty meeting. This is non-negotiable, and my life is on the line should you fail to show, I am afraid.”

“Well then, I guess I have no choice but to go, then, do I?”

“That’s the spirit!” Coran punches the air in emphasis. He stands from the couch swiftly, and makes for the door. “Have a productive day, number one!”

He sweeps from the room before Shiro can answer, leaving him to laugh lowly in confusion. Someday he’ll find out the reason behind that damn nickname. For now, he’s content to head off to his classroom. The halls are busy with students rushing off to make their last stands before the press of exams. He smiles to himself as he sympathetically takes in the familiar bruise black shadows under their eyes and extra large tumblers of coffee clutched like lifelines in their hands.

His lectures pass uneventfully, fortunately enough. As is his usual midterm routine, he’s carved out a good three lectures for review and questions, and he’s lucky that his students have chosen to use that time wisely. He sinks comfortably into himself as he answers questions and redraws diagrams he’s illustrated multiple times. Before he knows it, the end of his final lecture rolls around and he’s able to dismiss not only his students, but himself as well.

He packs up his briefcase, glancing up at the clock to check where he is on time when he’s finished.

Six fifteen.

He’s still got an hour and forty-five minutes until the faculty meeting, which is fantastic, because the campus is always quiet after final classes let out; he can get more work done in his office than at home, that way. He gathers his things and leaves the classroom, flicking off the lights as he goes.

His classroom is located on a corner, but he barely pays attention as he rounds it toward his office, instead pulling out his cellphone to shoot a quick text off to Kuro to ask when he wants to have dinner with his favorite twin brother again. The response is immediate and sarcastic, and Shiro laughs at the screen. He pockets his phone and looks up, steps stuttering in motion as he takes in the hallway. Half of the lights are dimmed for some reason, which doesn’t make sense. The lights in the building are on timers, and they’re never set to turn down this early. Usually, they cut to half at around seven.

A lump forms in Shiro’s throat. He speeds his steps, hurrying toward the familiar safety of his little office.

The squeak of a sneaker from behind startles him. He drops his briefcase in the most cliche, horror movie way, all of its contents scattering and fluttering across the floor. Shiro curses to himself, stooping down to gather everything back up. As he kneels on the cold linoleum, reaching out to regather a paper that a student paper-clipped instead of stapling (he reminds himself to deduct five points just because he’s feeling petty), a pair of familiar feet enter his line of vision.

He doesn’t know how they’re familiar. But he knows them.

_ I know these feet. _

_ Why do I know these feet? _

He looks up slowly, following the long line of legs that connect to a thin torso covered by crossed arms topped with a messy raven head of hair.

_ I know you. _

“Wh-”

“Shiro, I swear to god. I know this is built around you, but you could’ve been a little less on the nose. A professor? The whole teacher thing suits you, we get it, but  _ come on. _ ”

The man bends down, shining violet eyes meeting Shiro’s and he remembers. The bus stop. The terror. The headache that shook him to his core. Shiro drops his bundle of papers and skitters back, spine pressed against the wall of the hallway.

“This is-no. This is impossible. You were a dream. You’re a dream. You can’t be-”

The man, no, Keith.  _ Keith.  _ He remembers, but he already knew, but he remembers now with certainty. Keith. Sure and steady as any other knowledge Shiro has ever had.

“He speaks. That’s good. It’s progress, anyway.”

Keith pays his reaction no mind and continues to gather Shiro’s work. He stuffs it all unceremoniously into the briefcase and snaps it shut, corners of papers poking out through the seams. The sound of the briefcase is dull but loud at the same time, echoing down the hall, a shock to Shiro’s system. It feels like a whip crack. His back burns. He hisses at the sensation, reaching back to paw at his shirt where the skin beneath stings and tingles. Keith watches him pensively, the briefcase dangling limply from his hand.

“That’s sooner than I thought,” he mumbles. Keith steps forward with his other hand outstretched. “Then again, you’ve always been a prodigy, haven’t you Golden Boy?”

Shiro stares at his waiting hand, studying a calloused palm and shredded cuticles. He reaches out and takes his briefcase from him instead.

“Yeah, well. I guess I deserve that,” Keith huffs. “C’mon.”

He turns around and heads down the hall, directly toward Shiro’s office. Shiro has no choice. He needs to get there to be safe. He needs to get there to hide. Nothing else for it, he follows warily. Keith opens the office door as soon as he pulls up in front of it and gestures for Shiro to head in first. He doesn’t want his back exposed. He can’t have his back exposed. He can’t remember why, but he knows it’s bad when he leaves his back exposed.

His skin stings. Long slashes of pain rush up his spine and around his sides. His breath leaves him in a quick rush and he collapses in his office chair, gripping clumsily at his torso.

Keith settles delicately on the couch, staring him down.

“Shiro, do you remember me?”

_ Keith. _

_ You’re Keith. _

_ Why do I know you, Keith? _

_ Who are you to me? _

“Keith.”

“Great. You remember my name. That’s not what I asked. Do you remember  _ me _ ?”

He looks a little desperate with the question, a little hopeful. Shiro stares at him, eyes following the contours of his face. There’s a ghost of something gathering at the base of his skull. Just like the bus stop. The bus stop. Why is he just now remembering it? It was only last night. It was real and true, digging deep into his mind and scrambling his brain. The remnants mix again, small pieces of some sort of framework slotting together. Why did he forget? Why can’t he remember? He’s not entirely sure what it is he’s trying to remember, but he knows it’s important. It’s something deep and vast and alarming, like a bright orange stain across his memory.

Orange.

_ Orange. _

His thoughts skitter manically as jagged pieces of memories invade him.

He remembers a careful, private smile, a messy black mop on top of grumpy features. An excited voice, slightly squeaking, shouting victory at a control panel. Thin wrists, thin ankles. Whispers in hallways as a wild wisp of a boy passes. Murmurs of jealousy and rumor and suspicion. A triumphant laugh as another body presses Shiro to a sweat-slick mat, an elbow pressed against his jaw. Worried eyes in the middle of the desert.

The images speed by, warped around the edges, but true. They feel like memories, with the golden quality of time-softened romanticism. Impressions of a deep fondness, exasperation, patience, jealousy. Nothing makes sense. These memories are not his. These memories are through his eyes, but they are  _ not his _ .

Shiro has never seen a wrestling mat in person in his life. He’s never seen anything like that control panel. He’s never been anywhere requiring uniforms. His head feels stuffy, crammed too full with sensations and thoughts and weathered impressions. He gasps out, clutching his chest.

“-o, come on. You have to stop doing this. Breathe for me, just breathe.”

Keith is kneeled before him again when his eyes refocus. Glistening pools of violet stare up at him through shaggy black bangs and he’s struck viciously again. 

A sly smirk. Strong forearms resting across his lap. Mischief-filled, sparkling eyes. Sun-drenched skin kissed with freckles. A man on his knees. A man who bows to no one. A rush of breath, a rustle of fabric. Warmth in the dark, the press of fingertips in the dead of night. Charm, wit, and caring pushed deep into the trenches of a lonely heart.

The warm pad of a thumb brushes across Shiro’s cheek.

“You’re crying.”

When did he start crying? Why is he crying? What is happening to him?

“Shiro.”

Shiro looks up at Keith. He’s afraid, he’s so afraid. His mind is falling apart. It’s this man’s fault, he knows. He’s not sure how, but he feels it deep within. It’s like the first months after the accident that took his arm. Everything is disjointed, nothing makes sense. Cascades of pain and feeling and pieces of words, but nothing concrete. Nothing real. Shiro shivers. He pushes Keith away.

_ Who are you? _

_ Why do I know you? _

_ What’s happening to me? _

“Why are you doing this to me?”

Keith sighs.

“Because it’s time. Because you’re ready.”

“Ready for  _ what? _ ”

Shiro can’t do this anymore, whatever this is. He’s terrified and hurting, and he knows he’s going to forget. Just like last time, Keith is going to sweep in cryptically, muddle his brain and disappear, taking his memory of the encounter with him. He wonders how many times this has happened before. He wonders if he’s the first. He just wants to go back to his quiet life. He’s happy. Sort of. He was getting there, anyway. He rocks back and forth in his seat, dreading what comes next.

“Shiro.” Shiro snaps out of it and looks up at Keith, shuddering as their eyes connect. Keith waddles forward, still on his knees. “I got here too early last time. I really messed up. I’m sorry. It’s not an exact science, you know?”

He doesn’t.

“But listen, we’re gonna get there. You and me. Just like always.”

_ Always? _

Shiro turns it over in his mind. It rolls and tumbles, the sharp edges of the word smoothing out like sea glass, polished on the sands of a turbulent beach. He doesn’t know what Keith means. But he knows he’s honest. Somehow, he can feel it deep inside. It’s terrifying and disjointed, but it’s there.

“This is all we can do this time. You’re gonna have to work with this for me. I promise it’ll make sense soon. Really.”

It sounds like Keith is trying to convince himself more than Shiro. Still, Shiro appreciates it in some way. Still, Shiro wants him to leave. It must show on his face, that desire. Keith takes one last quiet look at him and stands.

“I’ll see you soon, Shiro.”

_ But why? _

He leaves Shiro’s office, the door clicking quietly shut behind him. The click is startling, loud in the dead silence of the office. It drops him back into his own skin with a harshness, snapping his spine up, ramrod straight. Blinking rapidly, Shiro glances around the office. It’s dark in the room; he forgot to turn the desk lamp on. That’s so unlike himself.

He clicks on the light, but squints against it. He has another headache. Leaning back in his chair, he can’t quite remember when the headache started, or when, exactly he got to his office. Sighing, he finds some painkillers and knocks them back with a cup of cold coffee.

Remembering the faculty meeting, he glances at his watch to check how long he has.

Six ten.

He looks back at his desk and snaps open his briefcase. He’s got a lot of work to do.


	3. Chapter 3

Midterms pass without any real incident, thankfully. Shiro grades late papers, countless exams, and even a few homework assignments he allowed to be turned in exceptionally late. He really needs to stop being so lenient. It’s going to get him in trouble one day. It already has, if his tower of work is anything to go by.

The reward for him at the end of it all is the dinner he has scheduled with Kuro. It’s been weeks since he’s seen his twin brother. A month, at least. He misses him immensely; his fire and wit are welcome distractions when Shiro is feeling down, and his demand for whatever environment he’s in to bend to his will is endlessly amusing for Shiro, who leans pretty mild in comparison. Kuro’s family is much the same as he is: dramatic and outgoing, amusing in all they do. Shiro is hopelessly fond of them all and cherishes the time they get to spend together.

This evening, however, is reserved for just Kuro and himself. Shiro’s been feeling off lately, his dreams have been a little strange, and he wakes up feeling more exhausted than he remembers when he went to sleep. At least, he’s fairly certain that’s the case. He tends to lose his grasp on the memories around mid-afternoon.

Kuro was there for him when he went through this after the accident that took his arm, he knows Kuro will be here for him again. Shiro just feels guilty that he’ll be springing it on him the first time they see each other in so long. A dinner like this should be reserved for catching up and laughing over the kid’s latest antics. It should be for hearing how much Kuro still loves his wife and, in turn, describing the latest dumb stunts his students have pulled to get an assignment extension.

Instead, Shiro will be wasting their time on issues he should have gotten past ages ago.

His hands are sweaty on his knees by the time the chair across from his scoots out with a screech.

“Hello there, little brother. How nice for you to see me again!”

Shiro chuckles even as he glares playfully across at Kuro. “We’re twins, you asshole.”

“I was born first. This makes you little. I don’t understand why you make me go back through it every time.”

“Whatever makes you feel better,” Shiro laughs.

They crack their menus open and chatter lightly as they pretend to decide. They both always order the same thing when they come to this restaurant, but the pretense is all part of their ritual. It’s a familiarity that they both need for some reason, so they’ve never dropped the ruse.

After a long enough period of pretending to weigh their options, they close their menus and place their orders. As the waitress steps away, Shiro steels himself for the conversation he knows is rapidly approaching. Being ready makes it no less difficult, but still, he feels a little calmer practicing how to broach the subject in his head.

“So how’s the family?” he asks. It’ll be easier, he thinks, to tell Kuro the truth once he’s loosened up. Kuro narrows his eyes at him. Shiro knows he can see right through him. Brotherly connection aside, Kuro is sharp as a tack. He’s observant and cunning. Still, he knows Shiro better than anyone else. He humors him.

“They’re great. Katie is pissed because she got a B on a paper she turned in last week. She bet Matt she’d end up with a perfect score. So now, her average is point zero zero zero seventy-four points lower, or something just as ridiculous,  _ and  _ she’s doing his chores for the next two weeks.”

Shiro whistles through his teeth. “Tough break.”

Kuro snorts at him, raising an eyebrow as he continues, “If I remember correctly, you used to do shit like that to me all the time.”

“If you’d done your homework like you were supposed to when we were kids, it would’ve been a lot harder to play you. Just saying.”

“Whatever, you stinkdick. Anyway, what else? Oh! Shay got a promotion about a week ago. I meant to call, but it’s been a rough transition, so we’ve been running our asses off.”

“That’s amazing! What is she doing?”

“She’s overseeing the geology department now. Director of Geological Research and Preservation, to be exact.”

Shiro whistles again. “That’s some big time shit, ‘Ro.”

Kuro’s face softens, his mouth spreading out into a soft grin.

“Yeah, it is. I’m proud of her,” he says fondly. Not a moment after, though, his eyes sharpen. Shiro knows what’s coming. “So now that you’re done distracting me, or trying to anyway, what’s the deal?”

Even though he knows they’re going to have this conversation, they  _ have  _ to have this conversation, he’s still dreading it. He’s going to try and skirt around it as long as possible, if only to make the painful part of the evening as short as possible.

“What do you mean?” he asks, knowing exactly what Kuro means, and feeling like the absolute ass he knows he’s being. Kuro takes a sip of water and just barely refrains from slamming his glass down.

“You’re stalling. Tell me. Now.”

It’s sharp in a way that Kuro hasn’t been with Shiro in a long time. He wonders if he’s letting more on than he thought. The dreams have been rough for him, that’s true, but he didn’t think it was affecting him quite so much. He sighs, scrubbing a hand across his face.

“You have to promise not to freak out.”

“Yeah, that’s a great way to get me to not freak out,” Kuro scoffs. It’s sharp and bitter. Shiro knows why. Anytime he ever backslid before, he would say the same sort of thing. He’s nothing if not predictable. 

“It’s not a big deal, I just-”

“Just what, Shiro? Just decided to drag me to dinner after not calling for a month and then give me a goddamn stroke before I even get to eat my pasta? Because that’s exactly what the fuck you’re doing right now in this restaurant.”

“Kuro, please-”

“Shiro, I swear to god, if you don’t tell me what the fuck is going on, I’m going to lose it.”

“Hey! I’m trying to! Why are you so mad? Seriously?”

Kuro sighs, his shoulders dropping from where they crept up during his sudden wave of anger. “Look, I’m sorry. Life’s been pretty stressful lately and I’m worried about you now. That was shitty of me. But would you please just tell me what’s going on?”

Shiro pauses for a second, studying Kuro under the warm lighting of the restaurant. He looks tired and worn, impossibly aged since the last time Shiro had seen him. He can’t believe he didn’t notice earlier. It shocks him, how blind he was to his own brother’s condition. Was he really that bad off himself?

“I think the dreams are coming back.”

Kuro’s jaw tightens.

“You  _ think  _ they’re coming back? How do you  _ think _ they’re coming back?” Shiro gets a moment to collect his thoughts as the waiter blessedly arrives with their plates. Shiro immediately grabs for his fork, but Kuro ignores his food altogether, focusing intently on Shiro’s face. “Shiro. Talk to me.”

Shiro sets his fork back down.

“Do you remember how it was, sometimes, when I couldn’t remember things?”

“Yeah. You’d just wake up screaming and crying, but you couldn’t tell us what happened. You just...knew that it did.” Kuro’s eyes go out of focus, his face stricken with the memories. “I’ve never been so scared for anyone in my life as I was everytime you would crawl out of bed like that.”

Kuro closes his eyes, steadying himself with a deep breath. Shiro keeps quiet and lets him. When Kuro reopens his eyes and reaches for his fork, Shiro continues.

“It’s been happening again. Only twice!” he rushes to explain before Kuro can open his mouth. “Only twice, I think. But it feels just like those times did.”

“Again with the ‘you think’. What do you mean you think?” Kuro asks, brows knitted together.

“I mean, I’m not waking up screaming. But, I get these headaches. And I remember how I felt in the dreams. But it’s only happened twice so far, I’m pretty sure. It’s been kind of hazy. Like, there’s a common thread in there I’m trying to piece together but I just can’t. It all slips through my fingers before I can get at it.”

Kuro looks at him seriously, shoveling a forkful of alfredo in his mouth. He chews deliberately as he contemplates. Once he swallows, he looks up at the ceiling.

“You know what I’m going to say.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll always be here for you, you know.”

“I know.”

“You need to go back to your shrink.”

“Please don’t call her that.”

Kuro sighs.

“I’m sorry. I just-Shiro, you didn’t have to see you when you went through it last time. I did. I can’t watch you go through that again. Call her tomorrow.”

“Okay, I will.”

“Good. Now eat your fucking carbs.”

“Yes, sir.”

The mood lightens exponentially after, Kuro returning to himself after Shiro promised to call Dr. Altea. He tells Shiro a little more about Shay’s new job. It’s funny, Shiro thinks, that his brother ended up married to a rock specialist. It’s such a specific occupation. That fact prods at him, something about it sitting just slightly off-center. He can’t place why.

They wrap up their dinner, pay their check, and head out into the street. Kuro needs to get home to put the kids to bed, and Shiro just plain needs to head home. He hurries to the closest bus booth, hoping to catch it before the lines switch out. He hates riding the late bus, it’s always so full of odd characters that it sets him on edge. Something about being on a bus at night makes everything seem so much more sinister and surreal. He can’t explain it, really. It’s just another odd, fundamental truth of the universe.

Before they part, Kuro reaches out and sets his hand down on Shiro’s shoulder. 

“Please call your doctor.”

Shiro smiles weakly at him. 

“I will. I promise.”

Kuro smiles back and drops his hand.

“Good. Shoot me a text when you do so I know you’ve done it. That’s not a request.”

“Aye aye, captain,” Shiro laughs, giving his brother a mocking salute.

“That’s the wrong hand, dumbass!” Kuro calls, walking away backwards. “See ya!”

It’s not until Shiro reaches his bus stop that he realizes that he and Kuro didn’t hug goodbye. They’ve always been huggers. Their entire family was touchy-feely that way. Nobody ever left without a hug and an  _ I love you _ . In fact, they didn’t do that either. Instead, Kuro clapped his hand down on Shiro’s shoulder and cracked wise.

_ What was that about? _

It wasn’t like Kuro at all. Something turns over in Shiro’s mind. A pebble disturbed by the nudge of a toe, a seashell swept out to sea. The action wasn’t like Kuro, but it was like someone else. Who was it? Who ever clapped his shoulder like that? If he could only focus, if he could only get his mind to cooperate for two minutes anymore, he’s sure he could figure it out. The answer lies just out of reach, but he knows it’s there. 

A sharp pain hits behind his eyes, bright and blinding. He remembers...something. A quick flash from one of his dreams. A quick flash of something else.

Warm eyes, warm hands. A fond touch settled on his shoulder. A private smile aimed only at him. Kindness and gentleness that only he knew.

_ Why do I know you? _

_ Who are you to me? _

_ What are you doing to me? _

_ Why is this happening? _

A horn startles him, and he looks up to see the bus driver staring at him through the open doors. 

“You gonna get on or what, kid?”

He checks his watch. 

Ten o’clock.

Looks like he’s taking the late bus anyway.


	4. Chapter 4

Dr. Altea’s office is professional but comfortable, just as Shiro always remembers it being. The walls are a warm grey, artwork and bookshelves littering them, her mahogany desk sitting off to the side, sparsely decorated. The floors are carpeted in a plush shag, which should feel dated, but somehow doesn’t. Shiro shifts around on the plush, pink couch. The color reminds him of warm, Caribbean beaches. It also reminds him of the strange flash of color he sees in her eyes when the sunlight the sunlight pouring in from the wide windows behind her desk hits them just right.

“So,” she begins, “it’s been a while. How have you been, Shiro?”

He rolls the question around in his mind, trying to piece together his words. It’s a big thought, even bigger to say. This appointment was necessary, but he still didn’t realize just how unprepared he was until now.

“I’ve been...not great?”

Dr. Altea nods her head at him from across the room. “Why not? Have things been busy at work? I know it’s around exam time right now, isn’t it?”

“Mmm, they just ended. We’re back to lectures until finals.”

“How did your students do?”

“Good, for the most part. Only a few failures, so that was a pleasant surprise.”

“Yes, you mentioned you teach some difficult material.”

“I don’t think so,” he laughs lightly, “but it would seem my students disagree.”

Dr. Altea smiles indulgently at him. “Okay then, how about your brother? Is his family still doing well?”

Shiro smiles as he recounts Kuro’s story about Pidge and her grades, and his chest loosens as the doctor laughs along with him.

“Well, I’m glad you were able to see him. I know it’s difficult for your schedules to align at times.”

“Yeah,” Shiro sighs, “it’s...it’s actually why I’m visiting today.”

“Oh?” she asks, raising one sculpted eyebrow lightly. “What do you mean?”

“I think-I think I’m losing my mind.”

Dr. Altea leans forward in her seat, clicking open her pen and poising it by her notepad.

“Why do you think that, Shiro?”

“I’ve been having dreams again.”

“Everyone has dreams. You know that, Shiro,” she reminds him gently.

“I mean, I know. But these ones…”

Dr. Altea watches him patiently, letting him gather his thoughts as she so often does. It’s why he appreciates her so much; she doesn’t force him along. She always gives him the time he needs to say what he wants to say exactly how he wants to say it.

“They feel like they used to. I don’t remember them when I wake up. I get really bad headaches. I...feel them in the morning? Like, I remember a little bit about how they made me feel, but I can’t  _ remember them. _ ”

“Are you reacting like you used to?”

“I don’t wake up sobbing, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“It is. How about the feelings you mentioned? What are those like?”

“Not good, generally. Like, okay. You know how you feel like something weird is happening, but you can’t tell what it is? It’s like that. Or I wake up feeling like I’m forgetting something really important, but I don’t know what it is, because I forgot it already. Or I just wake up feeling confused and scared.”

“That’s pretty heavy.”

Shiro laughs humorlessly. “You’re telling me.”

“I know you don’t remember anything when you wake up, but do you remember anything at all throughout the day? As you’re going about your business?”

“Not really. Well, okay. That’s not totally true.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I saw Kuro, he was acting kind of weird, and it made me think of something.”

Allura stops writing. “He was acting weird?”

“Yeah. A little more aggressive than normal. We didn’t hug when we left, didn’t say I love you. It’s our thing, you know?”

“Sure.” Dr. Altea smiles. “That makes sense. Well, what did it make you think of?”

“It wasn’t anything concrete, really. Just, uh, flashes? If that makes sense? Like in a movie when they do a montage. Only, I didn’t know what the montage was  _ of. _ ”

“Would you be comfortable telling me about the montage?”

“It was...someone.”

“Someone?”

“Yeah. Someone I felt like I knew. Really well.”

“A friend?”

“Maybe? Maybe more than that? I know this sounds crazy, but-”

“Shiro,” Dr. Altea interrupts. “You’re not crazy.”

Shiro stops and looks up at her. Her face is serious, set in contemplation. She seems like she’s weighing something in her mind, but she’s still trying to talk herself through it. After a moment of thought, she sets her notepad down.

“Sometimes, we need more time to process things than we thought, you know? We think we get through something, but it comes back around later, because there’s still some maintenance we need to do. Or we remember things that are really important to our own healing. I’m not saying the dreams aren’t returning, because it sounds like they may be, and we can deal with that together. But it also sounds like your mind is trying to tell you something. Perhaps you should let it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Shiro,” Dr. Altea says slowly as she sets her pad aside. “Have I ever told you my name?”

She hasn’t. He never asked, and when their sessions first started, he was too scared and scattered to care. After that, it felt weird to ask after how much time they’d spent together.

“No, you haven’t.”

She leans forward, removing her glasses and settling her forearms on her knees.

“Shiro, my name is Allura.”

Allura. The name sounds familiar, but he can’t tell from where. He knows he’s heard it before. But when?

_ Who are you? _

_ Why do I feel like I know you? _

_ Why can’t I- _

“Shiro? You have your thinking face on. What’s going on? What are you thinking?”

He shakes out of his trance.

“I...I don’t know.”

He thinks she sighs, but it’s so shallow he can’t tell.

“Shiro, my name is Allura. I want you to remember that for me. Can you do that?”

“Of course I can.” He tries his best not to sound offended, but he is in a sense. It’s not current events he can’t remember. It’s not that at all. Allura smiles ruefully at him.

“That’s great. Thank you, Shiro.”

Shiro decides to walk home from his appointment to give himself a chance to clear his head and put his thoughts together. He glances down at his watch as he goes. It’s only about six, so he thinks he might grab some dinner and head home to relax for the evening.

As he goes, he passes a small park tucked in between two buildings. It’s barely even a park, really. More like a swing set that found an opportunity. Memories of childhood days spent in the sun flood through him, and he stops in his steps, making a decision.

The gate is creaky as he pushes it open and steps onto the cracked asphalt, rusted over with rain and neglect. The playground of his youth wasn’t like this, it was shinier and better maintained, but the spirit is the same. He could use a little of that lost levity right about now.

He takes a seat on one of the swings and loses himself in thought, turning over the things that have happened to him over the last couple of weeks.

The ghosts of feelings haunting him in the morning, Kuro’s strange behavior, Dr. Altea’s -  _ Allura’s _ \- odd assignment. The thoughts, the memories, the confusion. Shiro tries his best to solve the Rubik’s cube in his mind, but it’s just not lining up. Every day, he feels more and more drawn away from himself, as if the universe is trying to tell him something, but he just can’t hear the message properly. Each morning he feels heavier, the weight of his situation coating his bones. He wants to lighten the load, to solve the puzzle, but there’s something he’s missing still. There’s something that’s still gone.

He’s been feeling different lately. He isn’t sure how, but he knows something inside him is shifting. It doesn’t make sense, but he needs it to. Time slips by as Shiro sits still on the swing, exactly how much, he doesn’t realize until he checks his watch again.

Ten o’clock.

That can’t be right.

There’s no way he’s been sitting on the playground for so long without noticing. Yet when he looks around, he realizes it must be true. It’s dark out, in a strange way. The sky looks impossibly clear, oil-black and swimming with pinpoint stars radiating in perfect clarity. If he focuses enough, he swears he could make out the milky way swimming through it all. It’s beautiful and breathtaking. It’s nonsensical. The smear of the city should burn it out, make it impossible to tell.

The location of the playground makes it difficult for the light of the streetlamps to reach him, enriching the view. It’s eerily calm. The shadows are deep and curling, wrapping the alcove in random patterns of darkness. It makes the playground feel different than it should. It feels a little bit spooky, a little bit too calm.

Shiro pushes himself around on his toes, the chains of the swing creaking and groaning as he does. He loses himself to his thoughts, loses more time to his contemplation until the gate squeaks again and he snaps out of his stupor. He looks up to find a shadowed person approaching him. He can’t see their face, just the general shape of them.

The person is slight and lean, walking toward him in even, sure steps. Their shoulders are set in determination, the line of them nearly straight in their effort. The person draws up close to him, and in the moonlight, he finally sees them.

It’s him.

It’s  _ Keith _ .

Keith.

He knows Keith.

Why does he know Keith?

“Hey, Shiro,” Keith whispers. His voice shakes a bit, he’s nervous. “You ready to talk again?”

“I don’t really think I have a choice, do I?” Shiro asks with a dry laugh.

“You always have a choice. Everything is a choice.”

A new rush hits Shiro. A battle in an arena of dirt, a decision to survive. A loss. His arm hurts so much. Running, running, running. Straps across his body as he screams and begs. A boy with a thin face and furrowed brow. A blur of time and then...space. Something else in his head. Some _ one _ else. Gigantic and ancient and wise.

Shiro gasps, clutching his chest at the images that flash by.

“What’d you see this time?”

“I-” Shiro breaks off, coughs into his hand. “I was somewhere else. I was hurt. I escaped, I think? Then space. I was in space.”

“Ah, when you came back.”

“Came back?” Shiro asks with uncertainty. “I’ve never left.”

“Shiro. Do you really think this is all there is?” 

He contemplates that. Every time Keith visits, he sees more, feels more. But then it all goes away. He only sees these things when Keith comes around. They fill his mind to bursting and then they’re gone away on the breeze. He can’t figure out why everything leaves when Keith does. It doesn’t slot in his mind properly and it’s frustrating.

“Hey,” Keith interrupts him with a hand dropped on his shoulder. “It’s okay. I know this is really weird. It is for me, too, to be honest. It’s not easy doing this to you.”

“But why are you doing this to me?”

_ Why do you keep coming? _

_ Why are you so insistent? _

“Because you asked me to.”

_ “Keith. If I don’t make it out of here, I want you to lead Voltron.” _

It slams into Shiro like a mack truck, loud and insistent and  _ whole.  _ The memory is clear and ringing, and with it comes a tsunami of other memories.

_ Shiro is in a cockpit. It’s not a ship. It’s a...lion. She’s a lion. She’s in his head and all around him. He needs her as much as she needs him. He’s begging, begging, begging.  _

_ “You trusted me once. Trust me again.” _

Shiro comes back to himself again, breathing shallowly. He’s curled up on his side on the ground, Keith kneeling before him with a hand on his shoulder again. It’s comforting and warm, familiar in a way he doesn’t find with anyone else.

“You remember her.”

And he does. Black. His lion. Huge and proud, strong and reliable. He knew her, he fought with her, he led with her. But then he-

“Keith.”

“Yeah?”

“What happened to me?”

“You...went away.”

_ It’s killing me when you’re away. _

“For how long? Away from where?”

“I can’t tell you. You have to remember for yourself. But I-we’re ready for you to come back. ”

_ I’m not leaving here without you! _

“Keith, who are you to me?”

“I think you already know that.” And he’s not completely wrong. Something sits at the edge of Shiro’s awareness. It’s huge and life-changing. But it’s also old and familiar, it’s comfortable and warm. There’s something about Keith. Something about his sharp eyes, his strong hands and arms, the intelligence and determination in his gaze. It sits heavy in Shiro’s chest, but not quite heavy enough to knock the knowledge loose. “Shiro, I think you already know who I am to you.”

_ You’re like a brother to me! _

_ Shiro, please! You’re my brother! _

“A brother.”

Keith’s answering smile is frail and wavering, twisted with a nuance Shiro can’t read. He stands up, offering a hand to help Shiro up from the ground.

“Something like that.”

Keith turns away and leaves the playground. Shiro plops back down on the swing. The chains rattle and squeak. The gate to the playground slams closed, the sound of the quivering metal drawing his attention. He looks up to it, but there’s nobody there.

Odd.

Must have been the wind.

It’s late now, hardly any activity on the road just ahead of him.

Shiro checks his watch.

Nine o’clock.

He’s wasted so much time tonight.


	5. Chapter 5

His class is moving along normally, students becoming more and more antsy as the end of the semester approaches. Unfortunately for all involved, the course load doesn’t lighten to match their mood. In fact, in the back half of their time together, Shiro tends to double down on the material the class covers. It’s partially out of necessity, partially out of a desire to impart as much of his passion for the subject as he can, and partially out of the fact that he’s the professor and he can do what he wants.

The days wind long and arduous, however. Each session that passes sees Shiro more and more tired, and his endurance is wearing thin. His lessons pass in the same way they always do, he’s never been one to change his lesson plans too much, but with each class that rolls by, his students begin to ask questions that aren’t quite right. They’re different. Pointed.

“Professor Shirogane,” a student with a bland face (Melissa? Caroline? Suddenly, he can’t quite recall) raises her hand. “Why don’t you ever talk about yourself?”

The question gives him pause. It’s true that he doesn’t. He feels his personal life is a subject that should be kept separate from his professional. Besides, it’s not like there’s much to talk about. Still, the question sets the entire classroom at attention. All fifty-three faces of his students whip up to him, eyes narrowed in scrutiny. As if they’re waiting for him to drop a bombshell. And maybe they are. Students are often desperate for something to break the monotony of stress they endure daily. Still-

“I don’t see how that’s pertinent.”

The question asker huffs an annoyed breath. “Of course it is. We love you! You should tell us about yourself.”

It’s clearly a diversionary tactic. If Shiro talks about himself, then he _won’t_ talk about their subject matter, and everyone gets a professor sanctioned break. He can’t help the lift of the corner of his mouth.

“What would you like to know?”

“Are you married?”

It’s hard to stifle the laugh that threatens to choke him. Instead, he paws awkwardly at the back of his neck before answering a quiet, “Uh, no.”

The students look a touch put out, but it still doesn’t stop the next question shouted out.

“A girlfriend, then?”

“Hah.”

“Boyfriend!”

“Still no.”

“Secret lover that dwells in the desert?!”

Shiro really does laugh at that one. It’s so outlandish and wild. And yet.

_The desert. A shining red bike, all gleaming and chrome-accented. Black hair whipping his face on the tail of a delighted shout. Hairpin turns and circles on flats of redredred. Sunkissed skin on a delicate nose. Shining eyes like a mermaid’s scales._

Shiro shakes his head. “No, nothing like that. I’m married to my job, as it were.”

“Well, that’s just sad, prof.”

“I have a sister!”

“I know this really cool yoga teacher!”

“I don’t have plans tomorrow!”

“Alright guys,” he chuckles. “Let’s relax on this before I change my mind about any of you asking questions.”

“Who’s the guy that keeps visiting you?”

 _A dirty bus stop. Strong arms. “You’re not ready yet.”_ _Scattered papers across a dim hall. Cold coffee in a stifling office. “Do you remember me?” A swingset in the dark. Dark eyes. Dark hair. An oil-dark look that smolders across a room. Him. Him. Him. Him. Him. Hi-_

“Professor?”

Shiro clears his throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

It barbs at the back of his mind. These flashes and thoughts. They’re jarring and heavy and ragged. Like time tore them out and reshaped them before trying to shove them back in again. Still, he can’t help but feel like he’s tipping on the edge of something big. And how do they know? How could they possibly know what happens to him in these liminal spaces? In his dreams?

Shiro looks at the clock.

Almost time for lecture to end.

“Okay, guys. You can have one more diversion and then we’ll call it a day.”

The class goes silent. Each body is stock still, unblinking eyes trained on Shiro. Their hands lay in their laps, their ankles politely crossed. They blink. In unison. It’s so quiet in the room, Shiro can swear he hears the wind swirling around each set of lashes.

Finally, one hand in the back raises. It’s slow and sure, eerily smooth. The student has no face. Shiro looks around the room in shock, fear beginning to lap at his spine. None of them have faces. Just smooth skin and cocked heads. Crossed hands and ankles. Blank slates. As Shiro frantically looks between them all, their hair shifts to the same style, their clothes change. It’s all black on black on red. It’s all so familiar. It tugs and beats at him. It threatens to break the seal, a chain on a rubber plug.

“When will you wake up, Shiro?”

Shiro lurches forward, slamming his palms down on his desk, eyes closed against his terror. He breathes heavy, counting slowly in his head against an impending panic attack. He’s gotten better at it lately. It’s born of necessity, but no less helpful.

“Ah! There you are, number one!” Shiro snaps to attention at Coran’s voice booming from the doorway. The desks are empty. His stomach goes cold. Coran looks concerned. “Did I interrupt you in the middle of something, Shiro?”

Shiro opens his mouth to reply, but no sound tumbles out, save for the dry clicking of his suddenly parched throat.

“I-no. No, I was just packing up.”

His briefcase is lying closed at his feet, his desk is clean. Coran raises an eyebrow at his lie. “You know, Shiro. I’ve noticed you seem to be a bit on edge lately. Is there anything wrong?”

“No, of course not!” Shiro lies again. He’s on a roll as it is, he figures. May as well keep up the show. “Just end of semester fatigue. You know how it is.”

“That I do! But if I may be so bold, Number One, this” -Coran gestures haphazardly in Shiro’s general direction- “does not appear to be that.” Coran’s gaze turns calculating, sizing Shiro up slowly with more scrutiny than he’s ever shown. “It would appear that you seem to be undergoing something more stressful than normal. Am I correct?”

Shiro almost wants to award him for the understatement of the year. Instead, he keeps his mouth closed. Unperturbed, Coran continues.

“This is a recent development, I’ve noticed. Something has been weighing heavily on you lately. You’re changing. Something about you is awakening, it would seem.”

And that is startling. Because something _is._ But still he can’t help it along. He can’t splash it with cold water, slap its face, ring an alarm. It’s slow going, whatever this is. He feels it deep in his bones. Something is coming, something big. And when it arrives, he knows he’ll never be the same. Still, he can’t help but wonder-

“Coran. Do you...know something?”

Coran’s eyes sparkle oddly across the room. His face shifts ever so slightly toward wistfulness. His mustache twitches, a lightning quick movement.

“You look tired, Shiro.”

Shiro shuts his eyes again.

He reopens them in Dr. Altea’s office.

“Please, Shiro. My name is Allura. You promised you would remember.” So he did. Nothing for it now, he supposes. Allura lets it drop quickly enough, anyway. “Why don’t we see what else you remember for today?”

He feels his cheek twitch at her tone, but nods his assent nonetheless.

“What’s your name?” A ridiculous question. He knows she knows this. She explained once that the best way to lead into things was to get him answering questions he didn’t have to think about. Still, he finds himself pausing before the answer.

“Takashi Shirogane.”

“How old are you?”

Another easy one.

“I’m…”

Supposedly.

“How old are you, Takashi?”

 _Takashi_.  _Takashi, please. I miss you. Come back._ It’s not a memory, this time. It’s a whisper at the back of his mind. A message. From where, he isn’t sure. From whom, he thinks he might know. _Dark hair, dark eyes, strong arms, bountiful heart. A boy, a boy, a boy, a b-_

“Shiro, your age,” Allura reminds him quietly, breaking through the reverie. Shiro thinks back, ticking off each year of his life that he remembers. His childhood is a mess of blurred images. His teens, much the same. A brief adolescence of finding himself and becoming a man. And now. He sits in his therapist-who-doesn’t-seem-very-much-like-a-therapist’s office, at the tender age of...the age of...he just had a birthday, so-

“I can’t remember.”

“That will happen in the transfer, I suppose.”

“Transfer?”

_“The transfer is going to be tricky. You know that, right? I don’t know if this is a great idea.”_

_“It’s the only idea.”_

_“It’s_ your _only idea.”_

_“Do you have one better?”_

The memory is brief and fluttering, striking harder at the crumbling wall in his mind.

“What is your occupation?”

Oh, well that’s easy.

“Flying.”

It’s not flying, what is he saying? He’s never flown anything a day in his life. He’s never even wanted to.

“Are you sure?”

“No.”

“What is your occupation?”

He looks down at the briefcase still seated by his feet. Why is it always seated at his feet? He doesn’t even remember what he keeps in there. Some papers, some assignments, some pens, maybe? Although, the last time he actually wrote anything down, he cannot for the life of him remember. But it reminds him of what he does.

“I teach,” Shiro answers with conviction.

“And what do you teach?” Allura sounds a touch disappointed at his answer. She sounds like she expected something else. But there is nothing else, is there?

“Science.”

“That’s rather broad. Can you be more specific?”

“I-” Shiro pauses as he racks his brain. It wasn’t all that long ago that he graduated, big dreams of changing the world on his shoulders. He was so excited to start teaching, so excited to pass on his love for- “I don’t think I can.”

“The slippage is accelerating. I’m glad to see that.”

_“We’ll call it slippage. That’s basically what it is, anyway.”_

_“Shiro, that sounds awful.”_

_“It could be worse. I could lose another arm.”_

“The what? Allura, what’s happening to me?”

“Shiro, do you remember me?”

_“It is vital that you remember us all in your own time. But if you take too long…”_

“You’re Allura.”

“Yes, we’ve established that. But do you _remember_ me?”

He remembers...something. It’s frayed and weak, but it’s there. A flickering of bright, cunning eyes set over a pressed-thin mouth. He remembers power beyond his wildest imagination coursing from delicate, dainty hands. He remembers regal dress and poised speech, gentleness far greater than should have been.

_A selection, a presentation. Each team member given a role, a part to play. She strides into each room, head held high with immeasurable weight on her shoulders. The universe is so big and they are so very, very small. But she trusts them. She tries anyway. Day by day, they build their connections - to each other, to her. Her._

Shiro presses hard against the chink in his mind’s armor, thumbs down hard until the hairline fracture bursts forth, releasing a tidal wave of memory about Dr. Altea.

_Ten-thousand years lost and still she rises. She takes the helm and tries her best. A child like the rest of them, thrust into responsibility greater than any of them can imagine. Allura. Daughter of Alfor, King of Altea. Allura._

“Princess.”

She smiles and reaches out to grasp his hand.

“You’re almost there, Shiro. We miss you so much. Keith misses you so very much.”


	6. Chapter 6

Now that he remembers Allura - truly remembers her - he can’t seem to shake the feeling of an impending arrival. Of what, he isn’t sure, but he’s beginning to suspect it. Things are slotting together little by little, and although he can’t quite voice it to himself yet, Shiro thinks that the arrival may, in fact, be a departure. Whose departure it will be however, he’s still afraid to admit. He doesn’t want to think about it.

So he doesn’t. It pushes it to the farthest reaches of his mind at the same time he pushes open the door to his and Kuro’s favorite restaurant. He approaches the table absently, his feet leading the way without even needing to think about it.

“God, finally. I thought you’d never show up,” Kuro scoffs quietly from his seat. He doesn’t stand to hug Shiro like he normally does, and that gives Shiro pause.

“Well, here I am,” he answers, narrowing his eyes to appraise his brother. He looks tired. Exhausted, actually. Dark purple smudges ring his eyes, his brows dip low over dropping lids, his shoulders droop like wilting flowers. He’s rumpled and poorly put-together, and it’s wrong. That’s Shiro’s job. While he turns over what could possibly be the issue, he does his best not to let on that he notices.

“In the flesh,” Kuro says, eyeing Shiro’s form.

“The only flesh I’ve got,” he volleys back with a smile.

“For now, anyway.”

That stops Shiro short, the joking mood quickly falling away.

_ “We’ve gotta get you in this body right-side up.” _

_ “Tell me something I don’t already know.” _

_ “Hunk lied when he told you he liked your recipe for goo salad.” _

_ “...Traitor.” _

“What?”

“Listen, Shiro,” Kuro starts, a wide yawn interrupting his sentence. It’s so unlike him. Kuro never shows signs of stopping, of fatigue. “Things are gonna get weird soon. I don’t know if you’ve been feeling it, but it’s coming.”

“What’s coming?”

“The conclusion.”

_ “The conclusion, hopefully, will be relatively painless. It should all shake together and then I just...wake up.” _

_ “You just wake up.” _

_ “You don’t need to sound so doubtful.” _

_ “Correct me if I’m wrong, but all of this is a little murky, right?” _

_ “In a way, yeah.” _

_ “Forgive me for being worried about bringing you back, then.” _

_ “I’ll always come back, Keith. As many times as it takes.” _

_ “That’s my line.” _

Shiro observes Kuro quietly. He looks tired and sad, drawn and tight in the face. He carries a listlessness in his eyes that Shiro cannot ignore. It’s the emotion Shiro feels roiling under his skin each day he awakens, only now it’s reflected on his brother’s person. Seeing it up close and personal is terrifying in a way Shiro doesn’t think he could ever put words to. The embodiment of surrender is a horrifying thing to witness.

“Kuro, what’s going on?”

“I can see you all the time, you know. In my mind’s eye or whatever. Part of it is the twin juju, I think. But that’s not all. I feel you when you sleep. I worry over you.”

It startles Shiro to think that his brother has been witness to his recent struggles. He tries not to let too much slip, to let it weigh Kuro down. Life, it seems, always finds a way.

“Kuro, I’m  _ fine.  _ I promise. But you-”

“Don’t you deflect on me, Shiro. I know you so much better than you think I do.”

“I’m not! I just-are you feeling okay?”

“Not hardly, no. But that’s unimportant right now. I need you to listen and not interrupt what I’m about to say. Can you do that for me?”

“...Sure.”

“Look. We haven’t always gotten along. But if you think about it, I mean  _ really  _ think about it, can you remember that? Can you remember when that changed? Can you remember a you without me? I can’t remember a me without you. Like you’ve always been a part blended into me. I mean that literally, by the way.”

He’s right. There’s always been something off between them. Buried deep beneath the loving tension that naturally comes with sibling rivalry, and even deeper beneath the actual affection and caring they hold for each other, there lies something different. It’s a blind spot, tiny but true. Shiro thinks that if he turned his head just right, he would be able to see it properly for what it is.

And for as far back as he can think, Shiro has never been able to truly think of himself separate from Kuro. There’s always been a little bit of his brother resting there in his soul. As if, before they were born, God took a piece of each of them and placed it in the other for safe keeping.

The realization must show on his face, because Kuro huffs a humorless laugh. “And now, it feels like you’re blending further into me. You have to have noticed, right? You’re supposed to notice. You noticing is of utmost importance.”

_ “The most important thing is that I figure out what’s happening. I feel like if I don’t, it won’t work right. You have to promise me that you’ll let me do this alone. I’ll need to do it alone, Keith.” _

“I see it in you sometimes. I read it on your face. You’re getting it. It’s coming back to you. They are. He is.”

_ “How will I know when to stop visiting?” _

_ “I’m not sure, but I feel like we’ll both know when that time comes.” _

_ “And then what?” _

“But it’s not all back yet. I still have some work to do there.”

_ He touches himself in front of the mirror. Cold hands on colder flesh, freezing metal, foreign skin. He has to get this right. He needs to get this right. So much is riding on this. His future is riding on this. His happiness. And god, does he want it. _

_ God, does he want Keith. _

_ He has work to do. _

“I just want you to know that I love you. I appreciate everything you’ve ever done for me. The trust you’ve given me. The forgiveness. The graciousness. I am certainly not owed that, I don’t think, but you gave it anyway.”

_ “Hey, it’s okay. It wasn’t you. I know it wasn’t you. I forgive you. You should forgive yourself, too. Forgive him.” _

“So now, you just need to know that things are going to change. Big things. Huge things. But they have to. You need them to. You’ve got work to do yet.”

_ He has a lot of work to do. _

“You have some reunions to have.”

_ “Make sure you come back to us, okay?” _

_ “If you screw this up, I’ll never forgive you. I’ll personally bring you back just so I can kill you again.” _

_ “I dunno how Keith would react to that, Pidge.” _

_ “I’d help.” _

_ “Oh.” _

“You have a very important meeting to make.”

_ “Make sure you come back to me. I have some things to say.” _

_ “Oh yeah?” _

_ “Yeah.” _

_ “What kinds of things?” _

_ “Don’t fuck this up and you’ll find out.” _

“I don’t want to keep you from him much longer. I’m missing him, too, to be honest.”

_ Warm hands caress his face. They’re smaller than his own, but rougher still. Calluses and torn skin coat the length of the fingers - battle scars and proof of a life spent fighting. They’re cherished hands. They’re perfect hands. They’re his favorite hands in this and every other universe. _

Shiro gasps with the memory.

“There’s just one last thing I need you to know, Shiro. It’s the most important thing.”

“What is that?”

“You’re enough.”

And isn’t that a thought? It’s something Shiro hasn’t thought about himself in years, it seems like. All he knows, all he ever feels, is a jumble of emotion and boredom and routine broken up by crazy occurrences that nobody would ever believe. His days have been smearing together, lately. Everything is a mess of confusion and intrusive thoughts. He hasn’t trusted himself or his mind in some time now, everything always skittering away from him as it seems to be. Is he really enough?

“More than, really,” Kuro says with insistence.

“I don’t understand.”

“You really do.”

_ Just think about it,  _ something whispers in his head. And it sounds like Kuro. Which is insane, because Kuro is standing before him, silently watching as he works through whatever all this is in his head.  _ You’re almost there.  _ We’re  _ almost there. I’m so proud of you. Us. _

“Anyway, I gotta go,” Kuro says aloud. “I’ve got some goodbyes coming for me.”

Kuro hugs him harder than normal before departing, and although Shiro is still uneasy, something about the action soothes over the burrs in his heart. Whatever conclusion they’re hurtling toward seems forgone by now. Shiro knows now what that conclusion will be.


	7. Chapter 7

Shiro is leaving his empty classroom when his phone rings in his pocket. He knows who it is even before he checks the screen, before he picks up wordlessly.

“Shiro? It’s Shay. We’re at the hospital.”

Shiro doesn’t trust himself to stay calm. His insides feel tremulous, like they’re roiling in a boiling sea. He trembles and worries. There’s an edge of terror and sadness thrumming beneath his skin, but it doesn’t feel like his own. The taxi he ordered pulls up to the curb, and as he hurls himself inside, the torn edges of the sticky vinyl seating blur around him.

He looks up to the window to watch the city burn past, but it looks wrong. Everything seems shiny and plastic, like the soapy film of a bubble clings to it all. Every hard surface seems too soft, every soft surface too jagged. The leaves of the trees look like poorly carved foam, the sidewalks like overstuffed couch cushions.

Shiro blinks rapidly to clear his sight, but as he does so, he’s overtaken by a sudden influx of foreign images.

_ His eyelids blink rapidly, unable to keep themselves open for any real stretch of time. Just beyond them, through his constant blinking and twitching, he sees glass. A curved pane, shining bright with a single, focused light that pours in from whatever case he’s found himself in. It reminds him, faintly, of sitting in a dentist’s chair, that single light above focused down on him so the doctor could peer down intently into his mouth. _

_ His nostrils flare, lips trying hard to move, to form words, but he can’t. _

_ He wants to move his arms, flail his hands, anything to get some attention, but his body is stubborn. It fights his will. His eyelids weakly flutter one final time before giving up. _

_ “Not yet, Shiro. We’re almost there.” _

His eyes snap back open. The cab is stopped in front of the hospital, his driver looking back at him with annoyance scrawled across his face.

“You gonna get out or what, kid?”

Shiro apologizes quickly and pays him, scurrying into the hospital. Shay meets him, but she’s quiet and subdued. She doesn’t look like he remembered. Nothing much does anymore, he’s realizing. Still, he doesn’t comment as she leads him wordlessly to his brother’s hospital room.

There, on the bed, is a skeleton. It’s impossible to Shiro, just how much his brother has wasted away. It’s only been a handful of days since they’d last seen each other, but here, now? It seems as though months, years have gone by of his brother dissolving before him. He looks waxen and ashy, a strange pallor coloring his skin.

And yet, as he moves further into the darkened room and takes Kuro’s hand, something slots inside of him. It’s a puzzle piece that fits perfectly right. Calm acceptance and peace wash through him. Everything finally snaps into place, and he realizes with finality that Kuro is more than just his twin. He’s something deeper, something more. He’s  _ him,  _ through and through.

He knows this, because he remembers it. All of it. All of Kuro, anyway.

_ He’s tired and sore, his mind overclocked with the orders being transmitted through the arm’s connection.  _ I don’t want to do this,  _ he thinks, although he knows it’s useless. He knows that at any moment, he’ll follow his directive. He has no choice. He regrets every bit of it, he wants no part of what is happening to him, but he physically can’t fight it. _

You will,  _ a dry, raspy voice answers him.  _ You will do this for your Emperor. 

_ And he will. He knows he will. Still, he holds a fondness for these people, for this ragtag group of kids that know him, but truly don’t. He doesn’t want to fight them. He doesn’t want to hurt them. _

_ He knows he isn’t the true Takashi Shirogane, but God, he feels like he is. He has the man’s memories, his skills, his feelings. He remembers his time in the arena, he remembers losing his arm. But it wasn’t his time. It wasn’t his arm. It wasn’t him. _

_ He remembers being born. This version of him, anyway. Waking up on a table under cruel violet light, electricity buzzing through his skull until his teeth gnashed loud and his screams tapered low on a torn and bloody throat. _

_ He remembers sabotaging missions. Subtle subterfuge, but giant chinks in the armor all the same. There was a satisfaction to it, to furtively completing a mission set forth by a different, larger master. Still, there was great pain. He was clandestinely destroying the team that had become his family. Shiro’s family. _

“You understand now, I hope.”

“I’m beginning to.”

“So you know I’m you.”

“Kind of.”

“Well, I am. You. You’re a bit of me, too, I suspect. We never really confirmed that, though, did we?”

Allura had thoughts on it, of course, but throughout the planning of this process and the crushing headaches, Shiro never much paid attention to what they were. He thinks she said there was some exchange,  _ soul-blurring _ , she said at some point. Either way, it was hardly his focus.

“Do you remember the facility? What happened there?”

_ “I’m not leaving here without you!” _

Kuro chuckles weakly. “Not that, but yeah. He’s really something else.”

_ “Shiro, please. You’re my brother! I love you!” _

Kuro smiles again.

“When Allura put you inside yourself, do you remember what happened?”

If he were someone else, Shiro might compare it to a data transfer. One moment, his soul is in Black, and then the next, he’s being plucked from within her, dragged and dropped to a new folder. A new vessel. A vessel that was him, but also wasn’t.

He changed. Physically, sure, but also in his core.

“I was different, wasn’t I?”

“You know the answer to that.”

He does. He remembers the feeling intensely. A soul too big crammed into a body too small, too full of someone else to make room for him. He remembers flashes of memories as he fought, as he was fought against. Brief moments of time all threaded together by a single, common factor.

“I didn’t fit right.”

“Nobody realized at first, since the initial reawakening seemed to fix it. Just us. We would sit there in the quiet and just lose ourselves. Time would slip by, you remember?”

He does. He remembers times where he would wake up in his bunk in the morning and sit up. And stay sitting there. For hours. Unmoving, unthinking, unblinking. He would while away the hours with nothing on his mind but a feeling that something was wrong. Sometimes he would look at his missing arm, and instead of feeling relief that it was gone, or comfort that he was no longer under anyone else’s control, he felt...nothing. Empty. Untethered.

“Yes,” he admits quietly. Kuro reaches a hand out for him, and the movement snaps him out of his contemplation. He shuffles forward, grasping his brother’s - his own - bony wrist.

“You’ve always been brilliant, though,” Kuro says. It lacks any hint of irony at the fact that now, it’s really just Shiro complimenting himself. “You figured it out. It was a hell of a puzzle, too. But the rest isn’t for me to tell you. He wanted that job.”

Shiro knows who he’s talking about. He remembers discussing this very scenario before they set it all in motion. He gave Keith a very specific set of instructions, notebooks piled high with his thoughts and steps to take. Brief asides scribbled in the margins of pages already overstuffed with more important business. Small notes of love, tokens of affection, words he couldn’t force from between his lips just yet.

Little things for Keith, and Keith alone.

“Just promise me one thing, Shiro. You have to promise.”

“What?”

“The next time you see him,  _ listen.  _ It’s time to let him in. We went through some real shit, you and me. It’s time to get past it, don’t you think? We deserve that. Can you do that? Can you listen when he calls?”

If there’s anything Shiro wants more than to listen to Keith’s beckoning, he can’t think of it. If there’s any one person he would follow to the very ends of the universe and ask for nothing in return, it’s him.

“Yes.” Yes, of course he can. He will.

“Well then, I think we’re ready,” Kuro says, but it feels more like Shiro himself says it. The words float through him before Kuro can voice them, and Shiro knows without a doubt that it’s time now to leave. Kuro closes his eyes, dragging in a deep, rasping breath. Each subsequent heave of his chest is slower, shallower, further apart.

He knows it’s coming when Kuro dies with his hand in Shiro’s, but the blow doesn’t hurt any less. As Kuro slips away, he takes every barrier with him. The dam breaks, and his time away rushes through Shiro’s head in nonsensical waves.

He remembers everything. His battle with Zarkon, his  _ death.  _ He remembers even further back, to a time when he was young and alive and whole. To kind eyes behind glasses and warm cups of coffee left sitting on the kitchen counter. To sickness, to abandonment. To a hand on Keith’s shoulder right before he climbs into the shuttle that will change his life, that  _ already has.  _

He remembers waking up in the arena, cold and afraid, body riddled with sickness and heart riddled with regret.

He loses himself to it, to the rush of everything coming back.

_ He crashes back to Earth. Keith is there. _

_ He hurdles into space once more. Keith is there. _

_ He climbs inside a fantastical mountain of steel and glass and magic. Keith is there. _

_ He loses his way and returns again, but it isn’t him. Keith is there. _

_ A fake masquerading as him pushes Keith away from the team. Keith stays faithful and sure. _

_ Haggar ruins it all, tries to take it all away. Keith rushes in, sword at the ready. _

Doctors and nurses surge into the hospital room as Kuro’s heart monitor flat lines beside him, but Shiro doesn’t move. He stays perfectly still, watching his brother’s corpse -  _ his _ corpse - waste further and further away until finally, warm fingers wrap around his bicep and tug. He’s pulled to his feet, and before he even looks, Shiro knows who it is.

It’s the one person he’s longed to see for longer than he can almost remember. The one person who has always stayed and, he suspects, would continue to if only he said the word. A wild spirit with kindness in his touch and warmth in his eyes. A deceivingly thin frame draped in strength beyond measure. Unruly black hair and jewel-violet eyes and fight-split knuckles and-

Shiro collapses to the floor as everything Keith is rushes back to him. The memories hurt as they jam themselves into place, files too large for folders too small, and Shiro cries out, hands grasping for his head as he stumbles forward.

Warm arms wrap themselves around his shoulders, lowering Shiro to the ground as Keith, dressed in horrible scrubs, lowers him to the ground.

“Shiro, it’s okay. It’s okay, I’m right here. I told you I’d come get you, and I’m here. You can do this. We can do this.”

_ “If it wasn’t for you, my life would have been a lot different” _

_ “Your friend desperately wants to see you.” _

_ “As many times as it takes.” _

Before it all, when Shiro lost a stout love and took his final trip to the stars, before he lost his soul to the arena, before he lost his arm to the sickness and experimentation, Keith looked up at a gleaming rocketship and promised he’d be there to meet Shiro when he returned. He kept that promise, and every promise since.

Each and every time Shiro’s battered body and spirit splatter to the ground, Keith is there to collect the remains and help piece him back together.

And now, as Keith runs gentle fingers down the side of Shiro’s face, everything remains as it has always been. Keith is here, now, and they can do this.

“It’s time to go, Shiro.”

Shiro looks up into shining doe eyes, tear-blurred and intense. They’re full of promise and potential. He knows that promise. He knows that potential. It’s high time he sees it out.

_ “I love you!” _

“I love you, too,” Shiro says and his world goes dark.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> art for this chapter provided by [jen](http://nornier.tumblr.com/)!

Shiro’s eyes snap open in a dark room. He gasps in heaving breaths, his pulse rabbiting wildly beneath his skin. He’s in a healing pod, that much he can tell, but it’s not the pod they pulled from the castle ship to settle in black. Looking around at what he can see, the room is composed of cinder blocks and wood.

It’s confusing and not right and Shiro is thrown by the new environment. He’s nervous and alone in a new place, and even if he’s in a pod, it doesn’t make much of a difference. He’s been put in unfamiliar pods before. He’s been torn apart and thrown into battles and abused and starved, and then tossed into healing chambers just long enough to keep him from death.

His chest tightens. The terror creeps along his skin, whipping panic in its wake. He tries to raise his arms, to pound at the door, but he’s strapped down and helpless. He’s vulnerable.

The door of the pod swings open and Shiro collapses forward, the tired weight of his torso dragging him down toward the floor. He doesn’t hit, though. A pair of strong arms scoop him up and cradle him to a warm chest. It’s comfortable beneath him, fluttering a bit beneath his contact, but it’s solid and real and _true._

“Hey, hey. Shiro, it’s okay. It’s okay, you’re alright. You’re back. You’re home. Breathe for me.”

_[art provided by[jen](http://nornier.tumblr.com/post/177315203319/hey-guys-i-participated-in-the-sheithbigbang-with)!]_

The chest beneath him shifts as he’s lowered fully to the ground, laid across a lap. A hand smooths down his flank and across his back, rubbing in circles. The voice keeps whispering to him, words that blend together in a low murmur. It’s soothing and soft, every syllable spoken in the sort of cadence one would use on a wild animal. Which, if he thinks about it, Shiro supposes he pretty much is.

The words keep coming, rumbling through the chest and into his cheek.

He recognizes this chest. This is a chest he is intimately familiar with. In darkened days and moments of fragility, he often thinks of this chest and the arms attached to it. In lonely nights away, he’s thought of the waist this chest belongs to, the curve of their owner’s neck, the length of the legs that carry him.

A hand cards softly through his hair, scratching soothing patterns along his scalp.

“It’s good to have you back,” a voice rasps from above. He knows that voice. He loves that voice. That voice has played through his head more often than his own. That voice woke him up from whatever strange dream he was having, from wherever it was he was having it.

Keith.

_Keith._

He looks up from where his face is pressed into Keith’s breastbone. Keith’s bambi-wide eyes are bright above him, shimmering and glossy with unshed tears. He’s so beautiful and precious to Shiro. His heart tears open at the loss of so much time with him.

“It’s good to be back.”

Keith smiles wide and Shiro is home.

Shiro only gets a few seconds to stare at Keith’s beloved face before he finds himself being hauled up from the ground. Keith drags him over to a metal exam table in the corner of the room, and as they go, Shiro glances around the room. It’s a basement of some type, and for some reason, it seems extremely familiar.

“The Holts’ basement,” Keith answers his unspoken question. He sits him down and shoves a nutrient pack into his hands. “Drink that entire thing and then we’ll talk.”

Keith’s got that look in his eyes he so often gets when Shiro is about to lose an argument, so he does as instructed. The nutrient pack is cold and soothing as the liquid slides down his raw throat. The flavor is something he’s unsure if he’ll ever truly get used to - it’s briny like the sea, but also a touch sweet. Both are flavors he enjoys, but in conjunction? It’s confusing at best.

Shiro looks around as he drinks, taking in the room he remembers seeing so often in his youth. The workbench full of electronics and tools against the back wall, the cabinets stuffed to overflowing with fuses, and lightbulbs, and random pieces of wiring and cables.

Keith watches him intently as he drink, his eyes never wavering, until the telltale sound of suction against the pouch fills the room. Shiro crumples the pouch in his hand and sets it aside, turning his full attention to Keith.

“So.”

“So,” Keith answers with a tired smile. “You’ve been a big job for a little while now.”

Shiro isn’t entirely sure how to take that. Keith smirks at him knowingly. “How much do you remember?”

“All of it? I think? I was a teacher. You kept showing up in random places, scared the shit out of me, left, took my memories with you. Until the end, anyway. Then I remembered you.”

Keith looks pleased. “Do you remember why we did this?”

_Shiro wakes up on a table or a cot somewhere, he can’t really tell. Keith is terrified above him. Allura is there, too, and she doesn’t look much better. She says something about rejection, but Shiro loses the thread of her words and his world goes dim._

_He comes back later, Keith’s hand around his neck, a smile on his lips._

_Shiro dreamt while he was gone, old dreams, dreams of another life before this one. Keith’s voice punctured the dreams. They weren’t sweet by any means, but Keith took the edge off. He pulled Shiro back from whatever brink he stood at._

_What was that brink?_

_Where was it?_

“Not entirely.”

“When Allura brought you back, you had trouble realigning.”

“Realigning?”

“Yeah. You were you, but you were also your clone, and the memories had trouble fitting together. The body rejected you. So we had to do something to help. The something was actually your idea.”

“My idea?” Shiro asks.

“Yeah,” Keith hums. “See, we fixed you enough for you to come back. Things still weren’t right, though. You would sort of space out, or just kinda...go blank. Nobody could snap you out of it. You’d disappear, too. Even Cosmo couldn’t find you.”

“Cosmo?”

At the mention of the name, a gigantic blue dog just appears, knocking into Shiro’s chest and assaulting his cheek with a large, warm tongue. Keith laughs low and pretty and tugs the dog back.

He wrangles the dog back to the ground and sweeps an arm in its general direction. “Cosmo. My, uh, dog.”

“I love dogs,” Shiro whispers.

Keith smiles warmly. “I know.”

Cosmo creeps forward slowly, lowering his head beneath Shiro’s fingers. He bumps up once, twice, a third time, before Shiro understands the request and digs his fingers into soft fur. Cosmo responds with low sounds at the rubs, something akin to a rumbling purr, and Shiro laughs at it. It reminds him so much of the dog’s owner that it very nearly hurts.

Both man and mutt cock their heads at his laughter, which only makes him laugh harder.

“Anyway!” Keith says loudly, trampling over Shiro’s wheezing. “One day, you came to us and told us what was happening. You weren’t feeling right, you were losing time, you were remembering things, but you couldn’t figure out what it was you were remembering. You said it was like you had a handful of building blocks but no idea how they all fit together. So, you asked if it would be possible to use Allura’s magic to help you fix it.”

“And I’m assuming it was?”

“In a way, yes, but you had to do the work. Allura could get you in, but the rest was up to you. You went off to the back of Black and we didn’t see you again for three days. When you came to get me, you had a novel written out for me to follow. I’m not gonna lie, Shiro, it was a slog to get through.” Keith laughs lightly, but it’s laced with emotion. Shiro can hear the tinge of pain buried deep within. “See, you thought if you could see physical manifestations of your memories and the clone’s, you could work through them, sort of. At least, that’s what I understood of it. Allura figured it out way better than I did. I was kind of busy freaking out about you maybe dying again? Look, that’s not important.”

Keith waves a hand through the air as if to physically clear the thought away. Cosmo huffs a breath at Shiro’s hand, a cold nose shoving into his palm to tell him he stopped petting and he really needs to start again. Shiro smiles down at him and sets to scritching once more.

“So, you gave me this huge file of notes and times and things you needed to hear to put you back together. Allura came up with this rig” -Keith gestures at a crude-looking headset settled in a chair by the pod Shiro awoke in- “so that I could hop in when I was supposed  to help you out. You told me to make you remember me, so that’s what I went for. To be fair, I probably could have been nicer about it or whatever, but it is what it is.”

And it’s so like Keith. To give him orders only to have him turn around and do whatever the hell he feels is best. Shiro smiles fondly at him as he pauses to think.

“So, what? I just wrote you an instruction manual to put me back together again?” he asks.

“I mean, kinda? You gave us your thesis on what was wrong and asked us to help you prove it, is more like it. So, Allura programmed herself and Coran in there to help you talk yourself through everything. She added things to make you remember what we’re dealing with now. Little stuff, but you said it would help you remember.”

“And Kuro? That was my idea?”

“Actually, no. Allura thought it would be best if we let your mind just sort of manifest the clone however it wanted. Kuro being your brother was a surprise for all of us. It was cute, though.” Keith smirks up at him, and if Shiro were a weaker man, he might melt away at the look.

“Cute,” he deadpans instead.

“Yep,” Keith affirms, popping the p deliberately. “Anyway, so we had you in a sort of suspension while you knit yourself together again. We gave you nudges if we could, but you were pretty explicit that we pretty much had to stay away and let you do the work for yourself.”

Keith goes quiet and looks down at his hands. His fingers knit together nervously, fluttering back and forth over each other as his brow furrows.

“Keith?” Shiro murmurs gently.

“It was hard,” Keith answers quietly. “Really hard. You figured out the basics of what you’d go through, but nobody knew exactly what you’d see, or even if it would work. I didn’t want to let you go through it alone, but there was no choice. I was- _God,_ Shiro, I was so scared for you.”

The admission startles Shiro. He already knew Keith was loyal, knew he cared, knew he _loved_ him in some capacity, but to hear the fear in his voice and see the tremble of his lip - to truly see it with his own eyes -  is something else entirely. It’s a killing blow to whatever restraint Shiro may have ever had.

Shiro swoops forward, gathering Keith up in his arm and settling back, pressing his face into his chest with a sigh. It knocks something loose inside of him, draining the caution and worry from his aching heart.

“Thank you, Keith. For everything.”

Keith’s shoulders go slack in his grip, shaking with silent tears. Shiro feels the front of his shirt dampen from their release, but he says nothing, content to rock back and forth and soothe the man who’s stood by him through thick and thin. Keith hiccups a sob and Cosmo blinks out of existence, appearing suddenly next to them, shoving his head up under Shiro’s arm to snuffle at Keith’s face.

Keith chuckles and shoves his fingers into the scruff of Cosmo’s neck, whispering platitudes to the dog.

Once he calms down enough, gulping in great, stuttering breaths, Keith continues. “Everything took longer than we hoped for. I was worried we wouldn’t be able to pull you out. Especially since we kind of screwed up the landing when I went in the first time. I was so sure we fucked your brain up or something.”

“Hmm, you did sort of just skid on in there.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I wasn’t really sure how I was supposed to approach. I couldn’t just stroll up all casual like, ‘what’s up, dude, it’s me, your best friend and fellow space pilot,’ but I had to do _something._ So I settled for a less direct route.”

Shiro pushes Keith away from his chest to look into his eyes. Keith looks confused as Shiro smiles and jokes, “That was less direct?”

“I hoped it was.”

Keith blushes, but Shiro chooses to ignore it. Instead, he plucks Keith’s hand from Cosmo’s back and laces their fingers together with a smile.

“We’ll have to work on that.”

 


	9. epilogue

“Yes, Princess, I know,” Keith sighs into his comm as he readjusts the coordinates set into the navigation system of their ship.

“I’m so very pleased that you  _ know,  _ Keith, but I would much rather you  _ demonstrate  _ the concept for me,” she answers tersely, and even though the thin connection makes her voice tinny, the exasperation rings loud and clear. Shiro smiles, digging his fingers into the fur right over Cosmo’s tail. Cosmo pants and dances beneath the attention. Even born from space, a dog is still a dog.

“Okay, you know what?” Keith snaps. “How about this?” He pulls up the keypad for the comm unit and starts smashing at the letters.  _ Oh no.  _ “Dear. Princess,” he grits as he types. “I, Keith Kogane, adult human man with dignity and  _ self respect. _ ” His keystrokes slowly get harder as he continues, “Do hereby solemnly swear that I’m not a total asshole, because  _ I love you and want you to be happy,  _ that I will show up  _ on time, _ ” and the force of his jabs is truly impressive now, “for the entire week of your wedding celebration and the three days after,  _ even though _ ” -he pointedly looks up at the screen- “you and your brand new husband will  _ already be off planet, _ probably swimming with some cool….I dunno, parvelian space fish or something-”

“Keith, there is no such thing as a parvelian space fish.”

“And rest assured, Princess!” Keith shouts over her. “That I will entertain every guest you require, because, as I previously mentioned,  _ I LOVE YOU AND WANT YOU TO BE HAPPY. _ This letter serves as a binding contract, etcetera, etcetera, see you then. Love, Keith.” He briefly stops typing. “Oh, and I promise to bring Takashi.”

Shiro smiles again and smooths his hand down Cosmo’s flank.

“Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Allura asks.

“Honestly, Princess,” Shiro speaks up. “I don’t know why you think we’d ditch you. Of course we’ll be there.”

“Perhaps if this one hadn’t informed Lance that he would, in no uncertain terms, ‘absolutely rather be anywhere else’ I wouldn’t have to be so insistent.”

Okay, yes. Maybe Keith should have relaxed a little on the jabs. To be fair, they were trying to navigate a pretty tricky asteroid field at the time Lance had called to inform them of the apparently customary extended wedding festivities.

“Like I said, Allura, it was just a joke,” Keith defends.

“A poor one,” she snorts.

“I’ll give you that,” Keith answers, amused. “We’ll see you soon, Princess.”

“Yes. We look forward to seeing the both of you again. It has been a while, hasn’t it?”

And it has. The war was long and tumultuous. Losing the Castle made the battle against Sendak monumentous. Haggar’s reemergence threw a wrench in it all, and for the briefest of time, Shiro thought they all might go down swinging. Instead, they managed to rally themselves and every bit of support they could muster and charge forward to the end that had long been building.

It was messy and horrifying and long, several near-misses denting the team’s resolve deeply at times, but they managed to turn themselves around and spring forward until the end.

When all was said and done, all that was left was to set up a democracy for the galaxy and move forward. Politics, as it turned out, was not something that interested either Shiro or Keith. So they left.

“Yeah, it really has,” Keith admits. His hand flexes at his keyboard, and the lights of the cockpit catch on his ring, sending it sparkling bright through the darkness. The shine throws warmth deep into the pit of Shiro’s stomach, reminding him of their brief visit back to Earth to tie up their loose ends and conduct their own marriage.

It was a quiet thing, just them and a justice of the peace, but after everything they had been through, after all the pieces of them that were broadcast and scattered to anyone with eyes and ears and access to an intergalactic connection, they had wanted something just for them. What better than the most important part of them?

“Well, we look forward to seeing you soon! I believe you will have much to say about the outfit Lance has selected for you, Keith.”

“Oh, I bet I will,” Keith grumbles. Shiro snorts at his pout and reaches out to ruffle his hair. It’s gotten longer in their years of travel, waist-long and messily braided. It remains one of Shiro’s favorite features of his husband. He’s positive he’ll mourn the day Keith decides that it’s far too much trouble to deal with anymore.

“We’ll see you soon, Allura,” Shiro says with a smile, cutting the connection. Keith’s eyes slide closed as Shiro’s fingers sink into his silken strands.

“This is gonna be a shitshow,” he mutters. Cosmo blinks in at his side and settles his large head across his thighs.

“Yeah,” Shiro agrees. “It really is.”

“I can’t wait.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading!
> 
> you can find me over on [tumblr](http://tootsonnewts.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/_tootsonnewts), if you'd like!  
> jen can be found right over here on [tumblr](http://nornier.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/nornier_)!  
> sam can be found right over here on [tumblr](http://sammywhatammy.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/samthehamwich) as well!
> 
> have a wonderful day!


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